Bound
by SeungSeiRan
Summary: By nothing more than the bruises we've inflicted on each other. Some ties are thicker than blood. Some still aren't enough. Steve, Hwoarang -centric


Disclaimer: These characters are on loan from Namco.

* * *

You were always good at taking.

Including advantage of my vertigo.

You wanted to cure me, you said before the blindfolding began. After that, I remember things. Not pictures or thoughts, just things like how faint screeching tires sounded fifty feet off the ground. Things like how your voice filled my ear as you breathed taunting words of encouragement. You did like it when you felt my shoulders shake under your hands, did you?

I forgot to ask…

Was this how your streets were too? Dizzying, exhilarating patches of darkness drenched with sound? I'd tell you but the London I know seemed much vaster when I was a boy. Cracks on the pavement seemed closer to reality than fluorescent lights in the sky. Exhaust smoke was an acquired taste and I'd never seen an airplane before. Heights make me want to reach down and reach for the freedom I had as a child. That's why I prefer the ground. Because you can't descend any further.

But you disagree, I know. We're friends, right? You go up, I follow.

Is that fact or am I being naïve?

What goes up must come down. Too bad for us humans, eh? We don't have wings to break that rule. You may be a hawk but I'm a fox so therefore, I must know better. Idioms and metaphors aside, I'm not trembling because I find this terribly amusing… I'm scared. Unfortunately, I'm not afraid to admit that unlike you. Fears strip us to our bare bones leaving us open to violation. You should know that better than anyone.

You are, if anything, nothing more than an exaggeration of me.

That is, if I had been born as another person, another series of decisions and instances dictated by chance that had lead to my conception. Leave out the questions of blood and paternity… and we're not that different in the flesh.

* * *

I see that we both can hold down our alcohol well. This is the price I should have forfeited for a lifetime of discipline. There will come a day when my liver throws in the towel no thanks to the toxins that I should have resisted. The same goes for your lungs as well, blackened and exhausted from years of juvenile smoking. But I don't expect to live very long and, judging from the new cellophane-covered packet of Marlboros that bulges from your pocket, neither do you. Better to die young and pretty than an old rotting corpse in a bland suit was what we'd agreed on. Anything to take the sting out of our vices.

"Try it." you command.

And I oblige. Just for you.

The smoke gags my throat as it fills my lungs with the filth you're accustomed to. Through my watering eyes, I can make out the corners of your mouth twitching upwards in blatant display of sadism. Must be a riot for you to see me – your peer, your confidante – gasp for clean air as the cigarette falls from my grasp.

You howl with laughter. So I do too.

If your superiors could see you now…

Remember your pre-AWOL anecdotes? For all I know, they could have been nothing more than simple anecdotes. Glossy words strung together for bravado's sake. But you're a good actor and I'm a bad judge of that. You're a narrator, I'm a listener. Unlike you, I have no stories to tell. Only snippets of faces that I've seen, bones that I've broken and hearts that I've shattered.

You are action.

I am thought.

We'd be a great team if we could finally get it right. Too bad we're both as fond of control as we are of keeping it. I can't tell you how to live your life and you don't bother to tell me where I've gone wrong.

We're both wrong. For each other.

Jagged edges don't necessarily have to fit. Force them to and they end up slicing through the other. To each his own, you and your cigarettes, me and my drink. You have your reasons for self-destruction, I have mine. Yet here we are, comrades in arms, trying to snap out of this delusion we've created. You already have a rival to beat; I have duties of my own.

Duty? That word you hate.

But you're still here, prying the half-empty bottle from my hands. Did you know that hypocrisy suits you well?

* * *

Julia's a great girl, a good friend. Too good a friend. Nothing but specks of dirt escape her sight.

I wish I could be as good as that.

Except goodness is a virtue. Virtues only befit the virtuous.

I suppose I could be a good friend too and tell you stop and smell the roses. You're moving at an acceleration that's dangerously above the speed limit and apparently I'm the one to stop you. I'm the fuckin' wall you're supposed to crash into. Truth smarts, doesn't it? Lying isn't any better.

Problem is, I know you feel.

Same shared sense of competitiveness that spurs us to greater heights. Trouble is, I always tend to look down.

What's defeating the spawn of the Devil incarnate going to do for you apart from getting your skin nicked in forty-odd more places? The correct answer is… nothing. You'll still be human, I'll be the same ol' buddy, ol' pal who gives you greater reason to suspect that all Europeans are born with a few screws loose. Point given, it's not like you have nothing to lose either. All defeat takes from you is your pride. Maybe a couple of organs too, if you're lucky. Better that than your life.

Julia'd miss you. I mean, being _your _girl and all…

Should go without saying that I would too…

But why would you care. You're the one that would be doing the dying anyway.

See, mate, the thing about life is that it's like a road. It comes to end and you… have to get off… whatever you're riding. Whatever, I never was any good at similes. I think in clichés and retired movie scenes. You're the hero that trots off to war, Jules' the faithful heroine waving her (metaphorical) hankie as you leave and I'm just the jovial loyal friend who watches this heart-wrenching display from the sidelines.

Keywords: Jovial. _Loyal._

Friend. _Sidelines._

Can't blame you for not noticing. I'm a bad actor and you're an even worse judge of that. I wasn't meant to play my part. Hence, you took it away from me. Snatched it from under my nose, so to speak. Bittersweet nostalgia where I used to be everyone's hero. Guess the earth shook one day and I forgot to look down before I fell through the cracks.

Nothing personal though. I swear I'll keep it at that.

Those who take are those who conquer. They roam, they see, if they like it, they take it. Simple as that. I was never good at taking. What I am slowly but surely getting better at is accepting. I accept platonic words of affection. I accept shallow musings of a mind bent on vengeance.

So be it.

* * *

Like I said earlier, the only one standing between you and the hero you want to be is me. I am water forced to compress into ice. You're still fire. Ever ready to torch and incinerate. On heating, I melt, succumb to the heat of your will and evaporate to nothing. I leave behind nothing but purple-black bruises on your skin and words which may have escaped your fancy in a puff of cigarette smoke.

You are… attack.

I pledge defense.

Neither is the best offense.

Feels great to see your name up there in lights, hm? I should know. Déjà vu, been there, done that. I'm not surprised you weren't content on the ground. Clipping your wings didn't serve much of a purpose other than to keep you alive and safe.

Ever heard of pyromania? A compulsion to burn objects to obtain a sense of relief. You have the lighter to prove that and I bear the scorch marks. You've always liked watching things fall, have you? You're little better than an arsonist setting his surroundings aflame with the slightest touch. Burn, burn, everything can burn for all that you care in your eyes. And you love watching every second of it.

Sensations follow.

Hard contact, skin cutting against skin, red lines crisscrossing to form temporary scars. Then there's the pounding, blow upon blow upon blow that drowns out the grunts of pain that accompany them. You are Voice, I am Echo. I am Voice, you are Echo. Interchangeable roles without either of us knowing which the other is. Blood, sputum, sweat, an exchange of physical exertion that leaves us both unsatisfied as the moment we'd begun.

But what am I but an obstacle you need to strike down?

Our peace has been broken. You wish to ascend higher and I am just the weight that ties you down. There are ties stronger than blood that you've severed to fulfill your own ambition. Be still, broken body… I am unable to resist anymore.

You've called me many things.

Acquaintance.

_**Rival.**_

_Friend._

**Brother.**

I hope you lied. Shame that I'd always believe you anyway.

* * *

_Was listening to: Linkin Park's 'In Pieces', System Of A Down's 'Lost In Hollywood', The Smashing Pumpkins' 'The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning' and Breaking Benjamin's 'Breath'. Thanks for reading._


End file.
